She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. "Don't ask me about it now. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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